New York Be Damned
by JonesyB
Summary: One-Shot. "If you get me outta here Conlon, I'll forget the god awful passes you made at me."  Spot frowned, "Howsa bought if I get you outta here, you'll remembah how charmed you really were?" The happenings between Spot and Sarah the night of the rally.


**New York Be Damned  
><strong>_JonesyB_

"Da name's Spaht Cahnlon."

Sarah Jacobs acknowledged this confident, easy voice, but she did not so much as glance over her shoulder.

She had come to this newsboy rally for one reason and that was the interest of Jack Kelly. No doubt, Jack had caught her eye from the moment they first glanced at one another. He was a poor news boy orphan, a legend among the paper hawking children, and leader of his Manhattan borrow. Even though she wasn't well off herself (being the daughter to an unemployed and injured father), a week ago she would have laughed in the face of the person who told her she'd have feelings for one of those annoying boys who yelled on street corners, proclaiming false headlines, before taking your well earned coin and running.

Still, there she was sitting next to another prominent figure in this child-like world of New York paper gangs, waiting for Jack to arrive back at her side.

She had all but lost herself in the crowd's stirring yells and uplifting song when _he _had thought it proper to strike up a conversation.

Sarah nodded meekly to the young man's comment, "Nice to meet you."

He gazed to her enticingly, "Have you hoid a me?"

She knew he was trying to get her eyes to connect with his, "Well I think jack had mentioned you once." She answered, eyes still looking forward.

He learned drastically closer to her, a arm inclined on the table, the other on his right thigh, "Have ya hoid a Brooklyn, Miss?"

"Yes," she replied not bothering to hide the agitation in her voice, "I've lived in New York my entire life."

"Well den how is it dat you've hoid a Brooklyn but not da Brooklyn leadah?"

She finally turned her head to meet his face. He at first was taken back, the mischievous smirk flickering from his features only to return a second later.

"I'm sorry Mr. Conlon, I suppose I just never gave you Newsies much thought before this week."

She snapped her head forward again. He was quiet as he stared to her.

"You's got a pretty face," he began, a hand lowering to his pocket as he looked off somewhere past her.

It was the last thing she expected to hear, but it was far from unwelcome. With a bat of her eyelash and a small shake of her head, she grinned.

"I know."

Spot produced a cigarette from his pocket before swiftly dragging a match against the bottom of his shoe to light it. He thoughtfully took a long drag.

"You's got a stupid bruddah though," a cloud of smoke slid through his lips and into the air around her face.

She looked to him yet again, now forgetting the act she had been playing, "Excuse me?"

Spot shook his head and shifted in his seat, his lanky figure that much closer to her side, "Ise is just saying, your bruddah simply can't be in the right state a mind."

"And why is that?" she inquired with a snooty tone to her soft voice.

"Because darlin'," he began with a sweet smile, "he lets yerself outta da house. If ise was him, I wouldn't trust a room fulla doity news boys with such a pretty goil."

She narrowed her brow to him, "Aren't these boys your friends?"

He removed the cigarette from his lips, "Yeah but…" he looked past her covertly pointing to a table of boys nearby. "Does boys ain't. Dere're from da Bronx."

She looked to the boys slyly. They didn't appear much different from the rest of the crowd. They appeared to be even better dressed then the average young man at he rally.

"So?" she asked, "What's your point, Conlon?"

He leaned in closer to her, a hand cuffing the side of his mouth to whisper, "Ise heard dem talkin' 'bout you on our way in here. You can't trust everyone, Miss."

"What do you mean talking about me? What were they saying?"

His wide eyes looked to her concerned, "Things I most definitely wouldn't evah say 'bout a respectful woman. Dose Bronx boys got a reputation, if yous know what I'm sayin'."

"Spot," She said flatly, almost annoyed.

"A goil can't be ashamed ta slap a boy that grabs her. If some man evah touched you, just give 'em a good smack across da cheek. That'll teach da sleazy-"

"Spot!" she cried with a humorless laugh.

"Yes Miss?"

"Are you trying to scare me or something? I told I've spent my whole life here. You don't need to lecture me on the depravities of men."

He looked hurt for a moment before taking another long drag from his smoke, "I didn't mean to scare you, I can't help me bleedin' heart."

She looked to him, holding his eye contact for a long second, "I came here with Jack, Spot Conlon."

"You mean Cowboy?" he asked, a small grimace flashing on his features for a moment, "Well I don't see him, where'd he go?"

"You heard him, he only left a moment ago." Spot stared to her, his mouth slightly gaping, she sighed now thoroughly annoyed, "He said he was getting me a drink!"

"I've known Cowboy for years..."

"So, what do you mean by-"

"The thing is," he continued interrupting her, "I wouldn't trust dat slimy son of a bitch...

"Oh really?" She quipped not particularly interested.

"I'm sorry," he began sincerely, "I forgot me manners. A fella should never swear in front of a lady."

She glared to him, seeing straight through any line that he could think up, any ploy that he could through hat her. She could tell not many girls gave him the cold shoulder before, he must have been using some of his best stuff on her.

"Fine Conlon, why his Jack a slimy son of a... gun."

"Well," he began drawing out the word as long as he could, "it's common knowledge that he cats around with evr'y goil in 'Hattan.

"Conlon." She stated in the same dry tone as before.

"I mean between his all night trips to da brothel and that list a names he's got…"

"How old are you Spot?"

This quieted him, he looked to her suspiciously narrowing his brow and turning his eyes to questioning slits.

"How old are _you_?"

"Just as old as Jack."

"So am I. Give or take a couple years. What does age matter any how?" he wondered sliding his thin body against hers, a hand wielding a cigarette butt carefully found the curve of her waist, "I'm mature for me years."

"Thank you Mr. Conlon," she said sliding her chair away from the table and slipping out of his grasp, "I'll be leaving now to find the man who escorted me here."

"Forgot about Cowboy, will ya?" He called as she got up.

She glanced back to him once with a coy smile, "I'll see you later Spot."

"Alright Sarah, just remembah to come back fer yer good night kiss! Isle be right here!"

She shook her head with a laugh. Boys his age, with all thoughts and urges of a mature young man, simply did not know when to drop the act. Of course, his attempts at seduction did not faze her. Living in the city, it was often the price she paid walking the streets alone.

Just as she was crossing the crowded floor, she spotted Jack. He was a decent distance away but she could sense something was wrong. In the way he was plowing through the crowd to get to her and in the way his face was contorted into a fearful scowl.

He waved his hands pointing towards something she couldn't place.

"What is it Jack?" she asked knowing the crowd would drown out her yells.

He mouthed something back to her, and even though she couldn't hear him, it was as if he was next to her shouting in her ear: "_RUN!"_

She began to back up slowly before turning and running straight into Spot Conlon.

"Hey, where's da fire?" He asked as she pushed against his open arms.

"We have to leave!" She cried.

He looked to her alarmed, "Wait a second toots," he asked holding her in place, "is there really a fire?"

Just then, there was a loud commotion over head. They looked up to the entrance to see an army of police officers filing into the theater. In all the excitement, Sarah failed to notice or care she was clinging to her new acquaintances' arm.

"What are we gonna do, Conlon?" she asked searching the room with her eyes as the kids around her began to push past.

Cries of joyous independence and cheers of children thinking they could make a difference, turned to the cries of a violent riot in only an instant.

A hand went to his weathered newsboy cap as Spot looked around the room.

"Come on, follow me!" He said leading her through the crowd, cane first.

She followed him close by with her hands on his shoulders as people pushed against them, her gloved hand clinging to her dainty white hat.

"Where's David?" She cried. "Where's my brother?"

"I don't know where yer stupid, mouth piece, bruddah is!" Yelled spot back to her as he shoved a man out of his way, "All I knows is wes gotta get da hell outta here!"

They heaved their way to the top of a staircase, Sarah yelling the entire way.

"Don't go this way, well get trapped! You're going the wrong way! Those police men have sticks! What if they beat us? Why do you carry a cane anyway?"

At the top of the bustling staircase, they looked down to the swarming crowd.

"Look!" gasped Sarah pointing to the stage where Jack was caught between a pair of officers alongside David.

"Oh my god Spot, they wouldn't hurt them would they?"

Spot looked to the scene then to the worried girl. His mind was racing, this was all too real. He wanted to lie to her and tell her they wouldn't dare hurt a child, but this was the city where copper's patience wore thin.

His flirtatious comments were far out of mind as he grasped her hand. "Don't worry 'bout either one of dem. Deys can handle demselves, I'll get yous outta here - Cowboy would have me family jewels otherwise."

She nodded as he took her wrist and they continued on making their clumsy exit. They headed to the main entrance that could be found just after the grand staircase. This seemed to be everybody's destination, the crowd growing thicker and more pushy by the second.

"Spot!" Called a boy running to the Brooklyn newsies' side. "Where you headed, Conlon?"

"Out da front door, got any bedah ideas Boots?"

"Nah, dere everywhere," admitted the boy, "musta snuck in on us while Medda was singing, dem low bastards."

Spot guided Sarah in front of him as they entered the packed entrance room leading to the staircase.

"It's too crowded, Spot," she called behind her, "I can't see where I'm going!"

"Just go!" he shouted back.

It seemed as though it only took an instant for a large crowd to develop directly in front of the entrance.

Sarah looked about the room with worry in her eyes. Boys where being tripped to the ground and trampled over without a second thought. It was mass chaos that she would probably never witness twice in her life.

"What will mother think if she needs to bail me outta the clink?" She exclaimed to no one in particular.

"Dats not gonna happen Sarah," Spot assured her now at her side, "aftah we leave the Theatre, we'll run ta Tibbies. It ain't dat far."

"If you get me outta here Conlon, I'll forget the god awful passes you made at me."

Spot frowned, "Howsa bought if I get you outta here, you'll remembah how charmed you really were, eh?"

She was too preoccupied on not falling forward to her death to roll her eyes.

Finally, they were at the doors. Exuberated from scaling the staircase, Sarah ran toward the door but must have caught her shoe on her dress, because the next thing she knew she was kneeling on the dirty floor.

She sprang up, tearing her dress as it was ripped from under the shoes of the others. Finding Her balance once again (which was no easy feat while continuously being pushed), she glanced to the boys who surrounded her. Each face her eyes fell on was a complete stranger.

As she stood still in the sea of hurried newsies she found herself barley able to keep on her feet.

Boys yelled at her to keep moving while the only noise to escape her lips was something that surprised her.

"Spot!" She cried as she was knocked to the side, her hat falling to the ground and her neat curls being undone resulting in a mess of brown tresses.

Suddenly she was outside in the cool night air. Just like that, the crowd had done it's way with her. She stumbled forward onto the pavement blindly.

Looking up she saw a boy being beaten by a cop. She watched on horrified as the man beat the withering boy who clutched his head and stomach. Painful moans and screams fell from the boys lips as blood began to flow form a wound on his forehead.

She backed up in disgust and fear unable to look away before being shoved forward once again.

Regrouping her thoughts, she ran in the direction of Tibbies, where Spot had told her to go.

Yet, a boorish looking man pushed into her way. She tried the other direction but it only took a couple of seconds until she found herself shoved into a completely different way.

Out of breath, she took a moment to look to her surroundings and another to check each face that passed by.

She felt as though she were a anchorless ship in the center of a tropical hurricane. The boys as the sea, pushing and shoving without mercy, without a care.

Her heart sped up when she saw what she thought was her brother's face.

Just as she opened her mouth to call out his name, she was violently propelled forward. Luckily, a man caught her before her own hands hit the brick. Yet, quiet unluckily, she looked up to see the man was clad in a uniform and held one to those awful night sticks in hand.

His helpful grip turned to a captive clutch in a second and she knew she had been caught.

Immodestly, she tried to push him away but his grip was too firm.

"Please!" She begged, "Let me go! I'm only a girl, I'm innocent!"

"Hold still dear," he begin in a voice that was all business, "it'll just be an easy trip to the police department for you."

She protested squirming, kicking, hitting at his hand, anything that came to her mind. Nothing was working on the officer who appeared to be made of stone.

Looking to his face only one last thought came to her mind, a thought that Spot had planted into her mind a few minutes ago. She raised her hand and with a painful slap, came down on his cheek.

Dazed for a moment, the man felt his face before looking to the immediately sorry Sarah.

He took his hand that held the stick and raised it, in what seemed like an unearthly slow pace, above Sarah's head.

She closed her eyes tight, just as he released her from the tight grip on her arm.

As she staggered back, she opened her eyes to see the police officer fallen to the ground and Spot Conlon standing over him.

Spot looked to Sarah as she starred to him in disbelief.

"You _hit _him!" he exclaimed in shock, "Shit!"

"You told me to!"

He frowned, "Whut?"

"Stay where you are!" yelled the cop Spot had just drove into the ground as he attempted to rise from the cobblestone.

"Let's go!" Spot yelled taking her by the arm. Before they were able to disappear back into the crowd, a hand grabbed Spot's collar and viciously yanked him back.

Sarah watched helplessly as he was dragged back by the infuriated police man.

She stumbled forward, but before she as able to grasp his reaching hand she too was taken back brutally by both her arms.

She continued to cry as loudly as she could whatever words found their way into her mind. It was certainly language she never planned to use in her life.

The next minute, she was thrown to the back of the dark police car.

In a unforeseen turn of events, she wished that annoying Brooklyn boy could have been at her side when only a small amount of time before, she would've given anything to make him leave her alone.

Unaware of the others in their quiet defeat, she held her face against the bars on the back door. As she looked on to the frenzied crowd of children, her entire being was put into a fiery rage.

"You cant do this to us!" she sobbed, "We're only children! Damn New York to hell! Damn New York!"

In a huff, she fell to her knees and the wagon began it's rickety way down town.

She didn't speak another word aloud. Not after a older boy put a hand on her shoulder and not after a much younger boy in the cart begin to quietly cry for his mother.

Her mind wandered to those cursing blue eyes for some reason, she wished Spot Conlon was okay.

The door opened and she was grabbed by her gloved wrist and lead quickly into a tidy looking room.

Everything was unfamiliar to her. The well dressed police officers and their odd way of talking in coded phrases made her feel as though she had entreated a different country. They took her name and other information, but that part had been but a blur from some sort of hazy dream.

She passed cursing newsies as a group of unfortunate young boys filled the station.

"Have a good night miss," said the man who placed her in what she could only suspect to be a cell. She glared to him before finding a seat on a bench in the large bared cage.

There were other boys in the cell with her, boys that she actually recognized but had, at most, said only a few words to before.

After almost an hour, a loud voice echoed through the hallways.

"Get yer god damn hands offa me! Dey call me da King a Brooklyn! I ain't no low life thug!"

Spot was thrown into the cell. Sarah kept her head down as he continued to curse out the two officers behind the cell door.

"Shut da feck up, Conlon!" Called a voice from a corner of the quiet cell. "Dey don't give a damn whutta buncha stupid kids call ya!"

Spot turned to the boy, his hands held in tight fists at his side. "I don't care what deys think. I got me rights, and this ain't fair!"

"We all saw them _beatin' _on us out dere. Do you think yer the only one thinkin' dat dis ain't fair?"

Just then the cell door slid open and a miserable looking Skittery fell into the dark room. He was holding his side as he heaved his lanky frame next to the wall to lean on.

Sarah looked down to him as he was now at her side.

"Jesus," began a boy, "what'd dey do ta ya?"

Skittery's eyes looked up to Sarah before he answered the other boy, "Not much, yerself?"

The kid forced a smile, "I guess I could be woise."

Spot ripped his hat from his head and began to ring it in his hands in frustration.

Sarah watched as his internal war raged. She couldn't help but feel his pain.

"Spot," she finally began, "they isn't worth it."

He starred to her for a long moment before the door swung open, once again, revealing a bruised hero.

"Jack!" gasped Sarah jumping to her feet and throwing her arms around his neck. "You're here."

Jack looked to her face confused for a moment before recognizing the young woman.

Had this decrepit looking girl really be the pristine upper crust woman he escorted to the rally?

"Sarah, I didn't recognize you for a moment dere. Your hair… your hat, where's your hat?"

She smiled shaking her head, "That doesn't matter, what happened to your eye? Why does it look so swollen?"

Jack looked past her to the others in the cell.

"Things didn't go exactly as planned, huh Conlon?" he asked walking in front of the sour, heated, young man.

"Not by a long shot Cowboy, who knows how many boys are hoitin' tonight."

"Who knows how many boys _ain't _hoitin tonight, how many boys got away from dem coppers and are spreadin' da woid right now!"

Jack nodded to the other boy, "Who knows Race, but we'll be outta here by morning. Count on dat."

"Not yer goilfriend dere Cowboy," spoke up Spot leaning in the corner, cane drawn from his trouser belt loop.

"Whatta ya mean not Sarah?"

"Dey got assault of a police officer on her! I saw her clear as day bringin' dat pretty hand of hers down on one copper's cheek."

Jack looked to Sarah who only starred to the ground, tears streaking her face.

"Sure, dey may be hard asses on a buncha protestin' kids - but a protestin' kid _and _a police beater? She ain't gotta chance in hell."

"Shut up, Conlon!" Sarah cried, "If it weren't for you, I never would have touched that officer!"

"What da you mean if it weren't fer me? Ise wasn't even dere when yous hit him!" Spot retorted.

Jack was suddenly caught between an ally and his girl. His attentions had turned to Spot as Sarah became increasingly upset. He confronted the shorter boy.

"Don't scare her anymore Conlon, yellin' at one another ain't gonna solve anything!"

Jack looked back to Sarah half wanting to only comfort her and half wanting to integrate her.

"Is is true Sarah?" he asked quietly as all eyes, bruised or not, looked to her as she meekly nodded.

"But I regret it Jack!" she cried as he looked away, "I know it wasn't right and I'm sorry!"

Jack ran a hand through his hair before taking a seat on a bench. His face resting in his palms as she stood there awkwardly before retreating back to her own seat.

The morning came slower than ever. Sarah was certain she hadn't but blinked her eyes the entire night. Her mind hadn't stopped racing since Spot's words, and she hadn't spoken since the sight of Jack collapsing into his own pity for her. All in all, it had been the worst night of entire life. The same could be said for half the room. Not a single person was well rested when the police officer opened the cell door, not a single person was prepared for what would happen next.

The officer called a list of names, he read off Jack Kelly, and honestly that had been the only name familiar to her ears. She figured the names must have been the boys true names, and that was why not a single one sounded correct.

She held her breathe to the very end, but her name was never called. She fell against the wall as Jack gave her a sorrowful glance.

"Hold tight, Sarah" he began under his breathe, just loud enough for her to hear, "Me and Davey will come fer you, hold on."

As Jack was conveying his heartfelt promises, Spot stormed over to the officer.

"Excuse me Officer but dere must be a mistake here, dose guys are with me and you didn't call off me name."

The officer smiled in a conniving way to Spot, "Oh, a mistake you say? What was your name again, son?"

"Conlon, Spot Conlon. Leader of the Brooklyn Newsies."

"Well Mr. Conlon, you're not in the same predicament as these boys here."

"Whattaya mean I ain't? Of coise I am!"

The older man shook his head still carrying the same smirk, "You and that fine young lady over there committed assault against a police officer last night, and you shall be paying as all criminals you are."

"This is _bullshit_!" cursed the boy, "I didn't lay a hand on one of yous!"

"I seem to remember it differently, Conlon. And I should know, I have the black and blue markings to prove it!"

And with that, the door was shut in the boy's face.

"After I slapped him…" began Sarah after a few moments of impending silence, "and he was going to beat me, you threw him to the ground."

Spot looked to her from over his shoulder. He looked back to the ground, a sad smirk grew on his face.

"Last night, you know what my foist impression of yous was?" she listened intently as he paced around he cell, "_Damn_, that dame would get me in trouble. I never thought it'd be anything like dis though…"


End file.
